Mother Knows Best
by cactusnell
Summary: Violet Holmes wants her boys to be happy. They're afraid she knows how to do it!


Violet Holmes was a brilliant woman. Almost as brilliant as her two sons, but certainly more human than either of them. Some people would say that it was a fortuitous happenstance that she had met and married Siger Holmes, and that their genes had combined in miraculous ways to produce two extraordinary specimens. Violet Holmes would tell you that nothing should be left to chance. That upon meeting the amazingly shy and socially inept chemist who she had determined was to be her husband, she had embarked on a single-minded campaign to win him. Little did she know that between them they would produce perhaps the two most socially restrained geniuses to be found in the western hemisphere. Left to their own devices, this branch of the Holmes family would wither and die. And so, Violet Holmes was now engaged in a campaign to remedy the situation.

Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, was lying in a fetal position on his couch in the sitting room of 221B Baker Street. It was almost four o'clock on a Saturday afternoon, and his world was collapsing around him. The first sign of this imminent collapse was delivered via text message just a few minutes earlier.

AM MEETING DR HOOPER FOR TEA AT THE RITZ - MUMMY

Sherlock had often heard that the world would end with a whimper and not a bang. So he lay there and whimpered. He had not expected that sound to be answered, however, by an even louder grunt, so he was surprised when he turned to see his brother Mycroft standing in his sitting room holding on to a bottle of excellent Scotch.

"I see you've been informed then, brother," Mycroft said with a sigh.

"Yes. But why should Mummy meeting with my pathologist bring you here?"

"Ahh, you only know the half of it, then," his brother explained as he showed him his mobile.

AM MEETING ANTHEA FOR TEA AT THE RITZ - MUMMY

"I hope you're willing to share that Scotch, then," the younger brother said as he went in search of two clean glasses, not a small feat in the cluttered mess that was his flat.

Mycroft was now thumbing his mobile.

CEASE AND DESIST, MUMMY, OR I SHALL BRING THE FULL FORCE OF THE BRITISH GOVT TO BEAR - MYCROFT

EMPTY THREATS WILL DO YOU NO GOOD, DEAR - MUMMY

Mycroft sighed and filled a glass. Sherlock plopped down on the couch next to him in order to be closer to the Scotch, not his brother. "Maybe we're overreacting, Mycroft. What damage can she possibly do over tea, for god's sake?!"

"My dear brother, do you know how many revolutions I have started, or ended, over a tea service in Whitehall? And never underestimate Mummy."

It was at just that moment that Mycroft's mobile signalled an incoming message, with an attachment. He winced as he studied the photo on his screen, one of him as a child, all baby blue eyes and blond curls. The text was from Anthea, and read,

YOU WERE ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE! - ANTHEA

"First shot across my bow, brother."

"You WERE adorable, Mycroft. What happened?"

"You, little brother, you!"

"Well, they don't need ancient photographic evidence of my adorability. I still have my hair."

"Ah, but for how long, Sherlock? It can fall out, you know."

"But I'll always have my cheekbones, Mycroft!" Mycroft grunted and took another sip of Scotch.

Sherlock's mobile was the next to signal.

YOU NEVER TOLD ME YOU TOOK DANCING LESSONS. YOUR MUM TOLD ME ABOUT YOUR BALLET TROPHIES - MOLLY

Sherlock took an extra long sip of Scotch before showing this to his brother, who snickered, "I yield the adorable trophy to you, brother dear. You certainly looked fetching in those ballet tights!"

"When should we really start to worry about this, Mycroft?"

"If you're not worried about this already, you should be, you git! Mummy is a very determined woman. She wants us to be happy, and has evidently decided what will make us happy. And, perhaps most disturbingly, Mummy is never wrong."

"I don't know about that, brother. She may be among the world's most accomplished mathematicians, but wasn't she responsible for that statistical analysis which predicted alien contact by the year 2009?"

Mycroft Holmes, AKA the British government, turned white as a sheet, leaned over and whispered to the man sitting next to him, "Bloody hell, Sherlock. That's on a need-to-know basis. And, as I told you, Mummy is never wrong!"

Sherlock stared at his brother, as Mycroft glanced suspiciously around the room. Then, in unison, they both took very large sips from their glasses, and hurried to refill them. After a few moments of silent thought, Sherlock spoke, "You know, brother, perhaps this isn't really so bad. I imagine that after a few more drinks, we may even be able to convince ourselves that this whole situation was our idea."

"I suppose we should just bow to the inevitable, Sherlock. I mean, everybody knows how Molly Hooper feels about you. And she is a very determined woman. Mummy's interference is really just speeding up the process, wouldn't you say?"

"What about your process, Mycroft? If Molly is determined, Anthea is… well, Anthea! She is definitely not one of your goldfish, as you are apt to call them!"

"No, Anthea is definitely a shark. A sleek beautiful shark circling for the kill!" Mycroft smiled in an admiring way. "Beautiful!" For a moment, he seemed lost in thought. "I suppose I shall have to marry her now. With her security clearance, it is either that, or have her disappear. And that would be a terrible loss. To the government , I mean!"

Sherlock sneered at his brother's attempt at justifying his decision to wed, but this didn't deter him from making his own feeble attempt at justification, "And who am I to deny the forensics community of Dr. Hooper's extraordinary gifts. If I were to break her heart, she may have a breakdown. I am. understandably, very hard to get over, for obvious reasons."

"Yes, well, perhaps you should get over yourself, brother dear!"

"Besides, Molly has a really nice arse!"

"Anthea's breasts are extraordinary!"

"How are we going to handle this, Mycroft? Do we pursue them, or let them chase us until we catch them?"

"I'll leave you to your own devices, Sherlock. As for me, I intend to close the deal as quickly as possible. Anthea is a trained agent. I do not wish to make her unnecessarily angry. You've never seen her angry!" Another gulp of Scotch.

The detective felt a cold shiver go down his spine at the thought of the ice maiden with the killer glare becoming angry. And then he thought of his own tiny pathologist, with a scalpel and a bonesaw in her hands. He raised his glass to his brother, and said, "Here's to us! And a quick ending to our unwedded bliss!"

As they tapped their glasses together, Mycroft suggested getting their mother an extra special mother's day gift that year, and Sherlock, for once, agreed with him.


End file.
